Ex cathedra

I annually provide a statistical analysis of the Rocky Mountain Conference. I do this because I have a status (and I will come back to that) as the Statistician to provide the story drawn from what the numbers are trying to tell us.

 

I am performing ex cathedra.  It literally means “from the chair” and it emanates from my “chair” as the Statistician.

 

The ex cathedra function gets a bad rap with Protestants because of our flawed understanding of Catholicism.

 

Too often we think of the pope as “infallible.”  No, it is only when the Pope of Rome functions ex cathedra he is said to be infallible, and that is actually quite rare.  And even in the rare occasion when he does act ex cathedra, we as Protestants flinch at the idea of anyone short of Jesus being understood to be infallible.  Let’s be clear, I am married and my kids were once teenagers, I am under no illusion of infallibility.  And if my family doesn’t keep me humble here, my local church for sure will.

 

But might I in humility, rather than hubris, offer that while I am the Statistician, and thus expected to speak ex cathedra about numbers, offer:  I don’t see my mission in numerical terms.  I see my role as trying to draw from numbers, narrative.  I am a (not the) narrative guy.

 

I run into people who say “well Dennis, you are the numbers guy” and while technically true, I will often offer a different proposition of my self awareness:  I am Dennis, narrative guy.

 

My task is to try and help us tell our story in this place in the Rockies about what is going on with this unique group o people called Methodists.

 

I confess this makes for cognitive dissonance when I talk to colleagues, mainly because it is so counter cultural to how they see my role.

 

When I am talking about the reliability of numbers and how robust they might be in technical terminology, I am operating where many, if not most, are prepared to see as the seat of my authority, numbers.  But when I venture out into the tableau of narrative, then my linkage to my chair is tenuous, ambiguous, and sketchy.  When I am operating here, I must endorse a different self with true and honest humility.  I can when speaking about numbers, exercise a certain amount of hubris in my role.  A certain amount, not a lot:  too much hubris is usually not a good thing.  But when I venture into narrative, I must move in honest humility.  I think I see a story, but what if I am wrong, and for sure, I am not infallible, right?

 

Is this meaningless navel gazing?  I think not.  It is not meaningless in that I truly want my colleagues to understand how I self identify here, how I approach my task.  But know this:  I invite others to join us, to be co-tellers of the narrative of the Rocky Mountain Conference, and perhaps eventually, the Mountain Sky Area.

It is my fervent belief that we have a narrative to be drawn from our financial numbers.  We want to tell a story but I offer in humility that story has been lost in required reports, overly precise words and an over reliance on the Book of Discipline for our economic first principles.

    

I am going to try and operate much more over the next several years from the seat, chair, of my responsibility, but know this:  I also see that responsibility in terms of weaving the compelling narrative of what God has done, is doing, and will continue to do with those people called Methodists in the Rocky Mountain Conference.

 

Selah, Dennis